


Assertive Omorashi

by Graymalkin



Category: No Fandom
Genre: F/M, Omorashi, Pee, Urination, Wetting, female urination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 07:47:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5959332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Graymalkin/pseuds/Graymalkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A self-confident woman purposely wets herself, which makes her man uncomfortable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Assertive Omorashi

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a prompt at Omomemes.

We haven't lived together long. I'm still not used to seeing her walk into my home...our home...after work. Each time, the sight is a treat. She's so beautiful and sophisticated. 

Today was no different. She was wearing a navy blue shirt and a grey blazer with matching trousers. Together they emphasized her thighs and hips so well it should be indecent, but instead it looked professional. She confidently strolled through the door and went through the usual routine of setting her attaché on the counter, quickly but carefully removing her high heels, taking her auburn hair out of the bun, and walking up to kiss me hello.

Today she had a bit more pep than usual. 

We chatted for a few moments about how the day went for each of us. She wore an exuberant smile and talked a mile a minute about how she got so much accomplished today and still felt full of determination, and then she said something that caught me by surprise.

"I want to pee my pants!"

"What?" I said, because that's the only thing to say in a situation like that.

"Some time today; not necessarily right now."

"Why?"

"Well, it's a little hobby of mine. I thought I talked about it before. Don't worry, I know how to rinse these pants off before a stain sets."

"I don't remember you telling me you liked peeing your pants."

"Well, I do! Not very often, but you know how sometimes you're just in that kinky mood?"

"I don't want you peeing on our living room rug."

"Then tell me where to pee. Feel free to get involved. I could make a nice puddle on the hardwood floor under the chandelier where the light's good. You could see just how yellow this pee I've been holding in is. Or I could sit on the staircase and it would pool between my legs before cascading down the steps."

"I don't want you making a mess."

"I could straddle the drain in the laundry room. That'd be nice and sanitary. We could take a shower together. That'd be just golden! Or, if you really want to keep my nasty waste contained, you could run out and buy me a pack of diapers. I'm ready to try that if you are. Just tell me where to pee."

"The toilet," I said dryly. This was when she started to acknowledge the fact that I wasn't nearly as happy about this as she was.

"Don't be a wet blanket...oh! I could wet the bed!"

"I don't like this."

Her emerald green eyes narrowed, and her rosy pink lips thinned to a straight line.

"Well I didn't like taking my clothes off at the nature preserve, but I went through with your whole woodland nymph fantasy without a word of complaint because I love you and wanted you to have that special experience."

"That was for the sake of art."

"Well, get out your camera. You're about to witness the art of the female urinary system," she said in a booming voice as she pointed out the location of her bladder.

"Not on the rug!"

"It's burgundy; it won't stain. Or don't you like the thought of walking on your sweetheart's pee?" she asked in a venomous teasing tone.

"This is all just a little weird."

She glared at me.

"Whether you like it or not, I'm going to stand here and enjoy an empty bladder and a warm wet pair of pants. You have five minutes to put newspapers down before I open the floodgates." 

I didn't argue. She's such a lovely boss she can get away with being bossy. I gathered newspapers from the recycle box and spread them around.

She stood on them with her legs slightly spread and her hands on her hips. A pinprick of black appeared on the grey fabric of her trousers. It grew into a lemon-shaped splotch covering her crotch and reaching from leg to leg. A few streaks showed up on the insides of her legs. I heard little taps on the paper where drops were coming out her pantlegs and hitting the newspapers. It started pouring out pretty soon. The damp spots on the papers grew and merged, and her dark socks glistened in obvious wetness.

As all this happened, her slight smile turned into a beaming, cheek-swelling grin. Then she stood there a moment in her wet pants, breathing heavily, looking almost like she was basking in the sunlight.

I never saw a girl wet herself before. I'd heard about it happening. My sister always tells the story of the humiliating accident she had in Sunday school, but I didn't see it. I didn't see Stacy Geldwechsler's legendary accident at recess, either. I'd never thought much about how female pants-wetting looked until I saw it for myself today. 

I was surprised the wet spot on her rear side was bigger than her front, even though that makes sense anatomically. I was also surprised enough came out her pantlegs to form a veritable puddle, even though most of her pants still looked dry from the outside. Once I got past the grossness of it all, it started to seem cute. Her face certainly looked cute when she did it.

She told me to fetch a towel so she could dab herself off where she was dripping.

"I'm sorry I was so negative," I said as I handed it to her.

"I'm not mad at you," she said in a tone of voice that gave me the impression she was mad at me, "but you're going to have to improve your attitude toward peeing."

With that, she walked into the laundry room, leaving me alone to ponder the day's strange events and revelations.


End file.
